


Nice Hire

by orphan_account



Category: Persona 5
Genre: F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-14 10:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15387237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Iwai lusts after his young new hire. fem!Akira/Iwai.





	Nice Hire

**Author's Note:**

> x-posted from P5 kink: https://personakinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/993.html?thread=1075169#cmt1075169

The toughest thing about being a single dad was...well, there were a lot of tough things, but these days, at the forefront of Iwai's mind was the difficulty it posed in getting laid.

Work was partly to blame. Being a small business owner generally meant long hours, and Iwai was usually manning the shop alone for twelve hours solid a day, and then he'd have to go home to make a late dinner for Kaoru. Yeah, Kaoru was old enough now that he could be cooking for himself, but Iwai did his best not to be a shit dad, so he tried to make dinners every night instead of handing Kaoru money for convenience store meals like a shlub.

He only closed the shop on Mondays, and he usually spent those days dealing with accounting, paperwork, and cleaning their little 2LDK, and by evening, he just wanted to flop into bed. This meant precisely zero time for dates—or even hookers, really.

Sometimes, Iwai wondered why he hadn't just opened up a flower shop or something (not like he knew anything about flowers, but he coulda figured it out, somehow), 'cause running a model gun shop was the worst kind of sausage party: mostly gross, sweaty weirdos, paranoid survival fanatics waiting for the apocalypse, and puffed-up posers who though owning some expensive toy guns would make them badasses.

So of course, when a girl walked into the shop—and a hella attractive one, to boot—Iwai's wasn't the only head turning. He felt he could be forgiven for staring a little, considering, though he was canny enough at his age to make it not too obvious. He hoped.

Iwai was a sucker for school uniforms, and she was wearing hers with the sort of retro-edge to it that reminded him of the bad girls when he'd been a kid, with a longer skirt going well past her knees, and a black jacket with a floral design on the back instead of a uniform-issue blazer. It was too bad the blouse wasn't sailor-style, but well, nobody wore those these days anyway, she made up for it by leaving it unbuttoned enough to give just a peek of her substantial rack.

Only moments after meeting her eyes, Iwai was struck with the urge to confirm if the carpet was just as curly as the drapes.

Fuck. How old was she? Fifteen? Sixteen? Less than half his age, easily. Not that that stopped Iwai from going to the back for a minute after she left to beat out a quick one.

Akira. That was her name. Boyish. But it suited her.

And not only was she way too smoking fucking hot for her own good, she was ballsy, too, and Iwai was _very_ into that. Hiring her was, quite frankly, half necessity, and half ulterior motives.

He was fully capable of keeping it in his pants, of course—it had been in his pants for the past five years now, anyway...shit, had it been that long? But Iwai was lonely and thirsty and if he could get a little bit of eye candy, he was damn well gonna take it.

She pulled off the first task he assigned her perfectly, and her first day or two working in the store went pretty well. She was a fast learner, and easy to be around. Iwai found himself quickly relaxing around her in a way he rarely did with anyone. She seemed mature, somehow, like she'd gone through some shit, and wasn't just your simple, every day schoolgirl.

...But of course, isn't “But she's so mature!” the same excuse every dirty old man uses to perv on underaged girls?

Then, one night. It was right at closing. Iwai had already locked the front door, and was opening up the till to count the cash. It was a warm night—it was still spring, but Iwai hadn't gotten around to fixing the broken air conditioner yet, since he hadn't been expecting a heat wave so early in the year. He'd have to call for a technician first thing in the morning, or the heat would start affecting the merchandise. He was sweating in his jacket, but kept it on out of habit.

Akira came out of the back, where she had been unpacking some boxes. Her shirt was undone further than usual—it was always hotter in the back, since the ventilation was shit back there. Iwai could see sweat dripping down her neck, arcing over her breasts and into her cleavage.

“Boss,” she said, a package of parts in her hands. “Where should I put this?” She looked up at him.

It took Iwai an uncomfortably long time to formulate a reply. “Uh...top shelf. On the right.” Shit. He was staring. He was definitely staring. Jerking his head away, he attempted to cover that up with babbling. “Sorry the air conditioner's broke, I know it's gotta be hot as hell back there, I know I'm sweating...”

“No wonder, when you always keep on that jacket, Boss.” Ugh, he really fucking liked it when she called him _Boss._

Then Iwai's head jerked back around when he felt a hand on the lapel of his jacket. Akira was tugging at it playfully, a sly grin on her face. “Why don't you just take it off?”

Looking at her face again, Iwai's gaze was inevitably drawn back down to her chest. She was too close. She had the box in one hand, the other on his jacket, and Iwai was frozen as she slowly peeled it down off one shoulder.

“And you're wearing a turtleneck, too! I don't know how you can stand it.” The grin never left her face.

Somehow, Iwai managed to start breathing again. Shit, the last time he'd been taken this off-guard, he'd been beaten within an inch of his life and had staggered home on Tsuda's shoulder. “Are you...are you _flirting_ with me?”

She looked up at him coyly. “Do you want me to be?”

Iwai stared at her, at that look in her eyes for a solid five seconds before grabbing her by the waist, yanking her toward him and burying his face in her chest. The little noise she made when he put her hands her told him she wanted it.

His tongue went straight for the stripe of sweat that had teased him so hard, licking backwards from the crack of her cleavage and up her neck, where he bit the ridge of her jaw by her ear just hard enough to make her gasp.

He backed away to look at her again then, and she was already panting hard as she eyed him with what was clearly lust. She was tall enough that he didn't have to hunch too much when he captured her lips, kissing her with the pent-up frustration of too many years of celibacy, and she leaned up into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing back with a suspicious level of skill for a goddamn sixteen-year-old.

“What're you doin'?” Iwai broke the kiss to mutter—possibly to her, possibly to himself.

Meanwhile, she was peeling off his jacket, and he didn't stop her, and neither did he stop her when she started running her hands up under his turtleneck and over his sweaty stomach. “Getting you out of those sweaty clothes,” she teased as she pulled it upward, clearly gesturing for him to take it off.

“No, I mean—” Iwai paused as he acquiesced to her demand, pulling the turtleneck over his head, only to curse when he ended up knocking his hat and ear protectors to the floor. He started reaching down for them, then thought better of it. Shit, he was making himself look like a real idiot.

With the the shirt off his body but still caught on his arms in front of him, forming a blockade between them (and a barrier to hide his growing erection), he paused again. “You are way too fuckin' young for me. And I'm your boss. This is a bad idea.”

Akira didn't say anything for a moment, just taking in his body, and Iwai realized that she was staring at his tattoos. Well. Some women were into that sort of thing. Iwai privately thought they made him look badass as shit, and though part of him regretted having lived that life, he never fucking regretted those tats.

His tattoos being exposed, however, reminded him that they were still behind the till and in full view of the front windows. “Fuck,” Iwai cursed, shaking off his turtleneck and grabbing Akira's wrist. He took two steps toward the back room, then remembered he'd left the till open and all the cash out, staggered back to grab the cash tray, and took both that and Akira into the back, where he dumped the cash tray on a box somewhere, and also took the opportunity to make Akira sit down on a crate while he went to stand as far as possible from her as he could in such a tiny storage room.

“Look...” Iwai began, trying to regain his addled mental faculties. “I...” he trailed off.

“...Ogle me nonstop?” Akira finished for him, flopped down on the crate with her legs spread really too wide to be appropriately feminine.

Iwai choked.

“I get it,” Akira said, completely unfazed. Oh, shit, now she was undoing her shirt, starting from the top. Slowly. One button at a time. Her bra was red. Lacy. Ngh. “And I like you. I won't let this interfere with the job. So what's the harm, Boss?” Her blouse now completely undone, she shucked it off entirely, and sat there, inviting. “...Or can I call you Mune?”

Aw, shit. He was hard, now. Obviously hard. And he could see her staring at the bulge in his pants. “I don't have no condoms here,” he muttered. His last line of defense.

She grinned at him, and reached over to the pocket of her jacket, where it was hanging on the wall, to bring out a red condom in a clear wrapper. “I do.”

It was at this point when Iwai ceded defeat and undid his belt with fumbling hands. The moment he had his fly down, his boxers pushed aside and his dick out, she, was there, sliding the condom onto him with her mouth. Shit. _Shit._ Her warm mouth wrapped around his hard shaft was almost too much already. Thank the gods for the sensation-dulling effect of condoms. Iwai leaned back against the boxes stacked against the wall as she sucked him off through the condom, burying his hands in her short curls and locking eyes with her as she looked up at him. His crotch bucked into her mouth involuntarily, but she took it like a champ without any coughing or choking, letting his length slide all the way back into her throat. This girl definitely had previous experience in handling a cock.

Iwai's legs felt weak, and Akira seemed to sense that, as she guided him down to the ground with her hands on his hips and her mouth on his dick until he was sitting awkwardly on the storage room floor, jeans bunched down around his ankles and cardboard boxes at his back.

The warmth of her mouth pulled away from his dick for just a moment as she stood up to pull down her panties and toss them away before kneeling back down in front of him again and leaning in for a kiss.

Their lips met, and he grabbed her by the shoulders as she guided herself down onto his cock with her hands, slowly, teasingly.

“Don't tease,” Iwai grunted, bucking upward, making her gasp. He could feel she was already soaking wet.

“Someone's impatient,” Akira said, but she started moving, rocking her hips over his, one of her hands moving up to wrap around his neck while the other stayed where it was to rub at her own clit.

Iwai's hands moved down to her hips as she rode him, her breasts bouncing enticingly with each movement, his breath growing ragged as she pumped up and down over his cock. “Ah...” he found himself moaning as he scrunched up her skirt to slide his hand along her thigh, his thumb reaching up to brush the pubic hair hidden under her skirt. Yep. It was curly. “You're so...fuckin' hot...” Was it normal for a pussy to feel this tight?

“You're a dirty old man, aren't you?” Akira murmured in his ear, breathless with the exertion and the heat. “Always staring at me. Is it the uniform? Or...” she paused to bite his ear, hard. “Do you just like them young?”

If Iwai hadn't already been flushed with lust, he would have blushed hard at that. “You don't...seem to have a problem with it.”

“Well,” her arm slid out from behind his neck as her pace on his cock accelerated, and her hand traced the line of his tattoos over his shoulder and down his chest. “I'm into dirty old men.” He could feel her getting tighter and tighter around his cock, her hand continuing to work her clit in a clockwork rhythm.

Iwai thrust up into her, hard, both hands squeezing her ass as she came on his dick with a cry, still riding him as her body shuddered and twitched until she finally collapsed into him, panting.

But Iwai wasn't done yet. “Get up,” he said, moving his hand down to hold the edges of the condom and keep it on. Her juices were oozing out all over his crotch. Reluctantly, she obeyed, lifting herself off him and taking a few steps back to lean against the desk built into the side of the wall of the storage room.

Iwai got up, kicking off his boots and his jeans, going over to Akira to spin her around, bend her over the desk and lift up her skirt to sink his dick all the way into her. She moaned, and he took that as his signal to start fucking her, hard.

She braced herself on one elbow over the desk, the other reaching down to her clit again as he fucked her from behind, drinking up the sound of skin slapping on skin. She moaned way more when she was the one getting fucked, and it went straight to Iwai's dick. It wasn't long before he pushing in deep and coming inside her, rocking and gasping over her as she kept on moaning and rubbing her clit.

After a moment of standing there, panting and sweatily pressed against each other, Akira turned her head to look back at him, a pout on her lips. “I almost came a second time. Couldn't you have held it in a bit longer?”

With a growl, Iwai pushed off the table and out of her, peeling the condom off and grabbing a paper towel off the shelf to wipe his dick off with before tossing the roll to her.

By the time Akira was done cleaning herself up and had disposed of the dirty paper towels, Iwai already had his jeans and boots back on, and was searching for his lost turtleneck.

“Leave it off!” Akira called toward him at the front when he finally retrieved his lost shirt, dumped by the cash register.

Iwai looked at the shirt in his hands, then glanced back at Akira, standing at the door to the back room, looking up at him through her glasses and still in just her skirt and bra.

“Fine,” Iwai grunted, dropping his turtleneck on the counter. “But...” he took a step toward her, then past her, to pick up her uniform blouse off the floor. “You put yours on.”

Akira's face broke into a wide grin. “Oh, are you into that, you dirty old man?”

“Maybe I am,” Iwai gave her a crooked grin back and swept the shirt around her shoulders.

 


End file.
